


No Gentleman

by rabbityone



Series: Rabbit Does McHanzo Week 2016 [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Attack Hanzo, Implied genyatta, M/M, McHanzo Week 2016, Role Reversal, Sniper McCree, Sort of AU, Swapped Origin Stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 21:43:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8940532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabbityone/pseuds/rabbityone
Summary: “You know, you talk a lot for a sniper.”“And you, sir, are no gentleman."





	

**Author's Note:**

> SO! 
> 
> Sniper McCree who was groomed for Deadlock leadership and crossed a line to prove he was worthy.
> 
> Attack Hero Hanzo who uses a naginata and is kind of an asshole.
> 
> Certain things may have been inspired by the recent Overwatch comic.

“You know, you talk a lot for a sniper.”

McCree rolled his eyes, adjusting his scope to see if he could spot the man who made that frankly rude comment. When he’d joined Overwatch after the recall, he hadn’t expected to run into smartass ex-yakuza who needed a lesson in goddamn manners. Jesse searched the darkened streets, finally spotting the man who both intrigued and irked him: Hanzo Shimada. The Japanese man was in an alley, crouching alongside his brother Genji and… the cyborg. He still had a hard time believing that the metallic creature he now found himself working with was his brother Carlos… the only survivor of the terrible fire he himself had set to prove to the Deadlock gang he was ready to take over as leader. It had been the final straw that made him leave the gang forever. From what the cyborg had said, the gang had been fully destroyed soon after Jesse had left. From what he’d been told, it had been the cyborg who had destroyed the gang. As he watched the group in the alley, he saw Genji and the cyborg sneak out of the alley, watching Hanzo stand, shifting his grip on his weapon. What was it called again? Naginata… that was what the man had said.

“And you, sir, are no gentleman,” McCree retorted, shifting the scope to try and spot enemy agents. Over the comm, he heard Hanzo chuckle and refused to admit the sound warmed his heart a little.

“I thought that’s what you liked about me, anata?” he queried with a purr. Jesse was definitely not blushing.

“Mr Shimada…”

“That was not what you called me last night…”

“Now you see here, Mr Shimada…”

“Awww, anata…”

“Ya’ll do realise the rest of us can hear you, right?” The icy realisation that the whole exchange had just been heard by the whole team made Jesse’s stomach lurch. The fact that the cyborg who claimed to be his brother had said it just made everything so much worse.

“McCree the Lesser, anija? Really?” came Genji’s voice, amused and disbelieving at the same time.

“You have no room t’judge Genji, you’re datin’ our sensei,” the cyborg retorted.

“That is not the same, Carlos, and you know it!”

“Our _sensei_ , Genji. That shouldn’ even be allowed!”

“Keep all sibling spats and flirting off the comms,” Soldier 76 snapped, sounding frustrated. McCree grumbled, settling back into position.

 

Later, back at Gibraltar, Jesse made his way through the corridors, coming to a stop in front of Hanzo’s quarters. The door was, surprisingly, open, enabling him to see inside the Samurai’s room. Much to McCree’s surprise, the space was clean and neat. A low table held a cast iron tea-pot and two cups, posters and scrolls decorating the walls. He saw a small bonsai sitting on the ledge of the window, neatly trimmed and seemingly well cared for. The space was at odds to the man he had got to know. When it was clear Hanzo was not in his quarters, McCree turned to go, coming face to face with the man he was looking for. Hanzo was a good foot or so shorter than McCree, his black hair hanging loose from the usual top-knot he wore it in. In truth, Jesse felt no one over twenty-nine should have an undercut, but somehow Hanzo managed to pull it off. He didn’t even mind the piercings (a bridge piercing, really?), or even the fact Hanzo dressed like a much younger man. Were punks still a thing? Could one still be a punk when one’s beard was greying?

In truth, McCree really had no leg to stand on when it came to criticising the wardrobe choices of others. He’d dressed as a cowboy pretty much since he joined Deadlock, but had gradually changed his look to resemble more of a riverboat outlaw. Before coming to find Hanzo, he’d left his long coat in his quarters, leaving him in his shirt and vest. Hanzo, for his part, was dressed in a pair of track-suit pants, tank-top and haori, far from his usual get-up. He looked unfairly gorgeous.

“McCree? Can I help you with something?” Hanzo asked. Jesse drew in a deep breath, squaring his shoulders.

“I came to thank you for what you did during the mission,” he replied. He was, of course, referring to the rather embarrassing incident in which Hanzo had to save his bacon from a Talon operative. The other man gazed up at him incredulously.

“Anata, there’s no need to thank me, I’d do the same for any member of the team.” McCree barely stopped himself from flinching at the use of the nickname. The first time Hanzo used it, he’d used the translator in his comm to tell him what the term meant. Since then, he’d hated it every time Hanzo used it.

“Must you insist on using that nickname?” he demanded. Now Hanzo looked amused.  
“Would you rather I called you other nicknames?”

“What’s wrong with using my surname? Or even my Christian name?” Hanzo, damn him, was smirking.

“So… would you rather I called you McCree-san?”

“What? No…”

“Jesse-kun?”

“You’re making fun of me Mr Shimada…”

“Jesse-chan?”

“Dammit Shimada! You’re not listenin’ to me!” McCree could feel the blush rising to his cheeks at the slip into his native accent. When he was being groomed for Deadlock leadership, the higher ups in the gang insisted he start speaking in a more refined Southern accent. These days, he only shifted to the accent he’d grown up with when he was angry or frustrated. Hanzo look visibly chastised, worrying his lip with his teeth.

“I’m sorry, McCree… I did not mean to offend…” he moved to step past McCree to get back to his room. Before he could think better of it, the sniper tugged the smaller man closer, pressing a kiss to his lips. It was brief, chaste and the first time McCree had initiated since their strange courtship began.

“You talk too much…”


End file.
